


Works of Art

by Oliver__Niko



Series: Harringrove Week of Love [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Florist Billy, Fluff, M/M, Tattooist Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Billy is a florist, far better at it than one might expect. One day, a customer he has never seen before wanders in, who coincidentally ends up as Billy's tattoo artist weeks later.





	Works of Art

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the prompt 'Florist AU'! I'm sorry it's late - I've had some really rough days with my diseases and some other issues. Thanks to giraffewrites for being my beta and so allowing me to upload this sooner than I could have done without her help.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“There needs to be an even number for each flower.”

‘ _Seems obsessively precise, but sure.’_

“Not too much white, because it’d seem overdone with my dress.”

‘ _All right, that definitely seems better. White symbolises purity, sure, but a splash of colour is often preferred.’_

“Warm colours would be nice, being as the bridesmaids are wearing a sunset orange … Oh, but I don’t want to blend in with them too much. Perhaps make sure the colours are bold enough?”

Blending in? This woman who is likely going to have a ridiculously sized ballgown, hair and make-up which costs far too much and the fact that she will _clearly_ be a bride anyway? It seems silly that brides have this worry, though it’s actually fairly common. Are weddings not supposed to be about love rather than what colour flowers don’t match your bridesmaids _too_ much?

Billy Hargrove, a florist with often little patience and temper, has been learning to soft talk his way around situations like these. Considering he has worked here for a year already without being fired, he assumes that he’s been doing rather well.

“I personally believe that rather than focus so much on the colours of the flowers, we need to be thinking more of the style,” he says, leaning down onto the counter with his face resting in his hand. He gives her a smile, eyes gentle. “You seem like an elegant lady to me, and I’m sure your wedding dress will only bring that out more. I think a chic, vintage bouquet will help emphasise your beauty.”

Or something like that. Flowers are really not as complicated as people make out to be. Either way, the way that he is practically batting his eyelashes seems to swoon her, almost enough for her to seem like she wants to marry _him_ instead.

“Oh, well, thank you,” she says, pink dusting her cheeks. She runs a hand through her blonde curls in a way which makes Billy both somehow feel nauseous yet want to laugh simultaneously. “I mean, I would say I do try to present myself in a very feminine, ladylike way … So what would you suggest?”

“Come, I have an example over here,” he says. He stands up straight, guiding the woman over to their examples of bouquets. He takes hold of one and faces her. “Field chrysanthemum, jana spray roses, carnations … I think this would be perfect. It’s great for fall, too. Would you like to hold it, see how it feels?”

The woman nods. She reaches to take hold of the bouquet, practically melting once it’s in her arms. “Oh, this is beautiful! It feels _perfect!”_

Which, he stops himself from saying, they tend to. Flowers are pretty. Women often like pretty things. Once she is given a little description, it suddenly feels right.

Although considering Billy has never been in love with anyone, perhaps he hasn’t got a right to say that this kind of thing is silly.

“This is the one, then?” Billy asks. “If so, we can go ahead and get your payment down. The bouquet will then be arranged for your wedding.”

“Brilliant! Then yes, I shall pay now.”

Billy Hargrove, the perfect florist. If his father knew, he’d be killed, probably. But Billy had been in need of cash. When you’re desperate, you cannot be picky about what you do. Although he had turned out to be lucky with his desperate pick; it turns out that Billy, with his good looks and the charm he can put on, is actually a perfect fit for the role.

And yes, he’ll admit it, flowers aren’t all that bad. He’s certainly learned a fair bit about them. Although that is only natural, when despite how the average person knows little about flower meanings, you’re more guaranteed a sale if you spout stuff which seems intelligent.

“Enjoy the wedding!” Billy calls as the woman leaves. Piece of cake, as always.

 

* * *

 

The day is fairly relaxed after this. Wedding orders are usually most common in September and October; now it is early November, shifts have grown less hectic. It’ll likely stay this way up until Valentine’s Day, and then again for spring weddings.

No interactions really stand out to him, aside from a hilarious case of a guy trying to find the perfect bouquet to try and stop his girlfriend from being angry at him. The day passes by as a blur for most of the day after this. Until, that is, another man enters, although this one catches his eye.

The handsome features of his face are easy to notice even from this distance. His hair is ridiculously perfect – either he is blessed with naturally good hair, or like Billy himself, makes sure to take care of it. He is wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. When the man comes closer, inspecting the flowers they have on display, Billy notices that he is a little taller than himself.

Billy swears to himself that he walks on over to him to help, rather than to inspect these attractive qualities up close.

“Can I help you?” he asks. The man turns to Billy, letting out a short laugh.

“Maybe. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“What’re you after? Trying to woo a chick, or is it for a girlfriend?”

“Neither, actually,” says the man. He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re uh, they’re actually for a couple of friends. They’re getting married and I want to congratulate them.”

“Ah, I see.” Billy’s eyes glance at the man’s face. He has worked here long enough to understand things by now. “Let me guess. You have history with her which is making this a bit complicated.”

The customer blinks, his delay to respond confirming Billy’s words. He then breaks out into an awkward smile, although he seems a little amused. “Yeah, you’re right. We dated years ago, I’m over it by now, but it’d feel weird to get her roses or something, you know?”

“Completely get it. Come over here, we’ll find something for ya. When are you hoping to get them for?”

“Actually, I was hoping to get some today. I know that’d mean I can’t get them custom done, but are there pre-made bouquets I can get?”

“Sure thing,” says Billy, guiding the customer over to another part of the store. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Steve Harrington,” replies Steve, and _God,_ that smile could kill.

“I’m Billy.”

“I know.” Steve quickly gestures with his hand. “From your badge, I mean.”

Billy smiles from amusement, before he is gesturing to pre-arranged bouquets nearby. “Right, so you don’t want to go _too_ basic, because you’ll seem like you’re hating it’s happening. But something too extravagant might seem weird. So you’re probably after,” Billy scoops up one of the bouquets, a balloon in his other hand, “something like this.”

Steve inspects the bouquet in Billy’s hand. It is pretty, made up of germinis, stallion chrysanthemums, veronica, avalanche roses and agapanthus, yet also still simple with its white and blue colour scheme. The hand tied raffia also adds a pleasant touch.

Well, Steve probably knows none of that, but pretty flowers are pretty flowers.

“Does it come with the balloon?” says Steve, eyeing the green balloon with _‘Congratulations!’_ written on it.

“Yeah, and good thing too, because that casualness will probably make this girl realise you don’t want to sleep with her.”

Steve laughs, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Besides, the flowers are nice. All right, I’ll take them, please.”

Minutes later, the flowers have been paid for, with Steve smiling gratefully afterwards. He’s even holding out a hand to shake, which customers rarely do. After a moment of hesitation – Billy has never been good with physical contact – he takes it. Steve has a firmer handshake than you’d expect him to give.

“Thanks, I’ll come again!” he says. He seems to contemplate saying something else, but apparently it must not be important, for he is soon leaving the store with flowers and balloon in hand.

Billy cannot help but let out a sigh after he’s gone. Not because he thinks he didn’t do well or anything; apparently he can deal with male customers as well as female. No, it’s more because Steve Harrington seems far more attractive than any other man has to him, and for the first time in his life in regards to this sort of thing, a strange sense of nerves and giddiness has filled his chest.

He should have got his number.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, Billy finds himself scrolling online for nearby tattoo parlours.

Despite what you may believe when looking at him, Billy actually has zero experience with getting tattoos. He’s twenty-two now and has wanted one ever since he was eighteen – _before_ then, even. But it seems like he simply never got around to figuring it out.

He can easily guess the reason, however. Rather than the common tribal tattoo, Billy wants something to represent his mother. She passed when he was only a child, although he can remember her clearly. His blond hair, the gentle smile, her sweet voice … All a stark contrast to Billy’s father. Somehow, getting a tattoo on the body that man has tainted, one which represents a person so pure, makes him feel as though he is combating that darkness somehow.

That’s why it has to be perfect. And finally, his very work is the one who has ended up being his inspiration, for he has decided to get her favourite flower, gardenia, tattooed on his wrist.

He thought a wrist tattoo might be too feminine, but then he said fuck it, because this is his body and now, it is up to _him_ what he does to it.

Eventually, he has settled on a parlour and is heading down the streets. He assumes that he will have to book an appointment, but considering he plans to grab a few groceries after anyway, he thought he might as well stop by in person.

He is soon standing inside the parlour. It is just how you’d expect, with the person currently at the cash register decked out in full sleeve tattoos. Billy’s fairly intrigued by them, but he’d rather not seem weird by staring at them.

“Hey,” he says instead. “I was hoping to make an appointment for a wrist tattoo.”

The receptionist smiles. “Steve had someone cancel a long appointment just now, so if you have cash on you, you can take that spot if you like.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” says Billy. For a moment, he’s curious as to why the name ‘Steve’ seems so familiar, before realising that one of the customers he dealt with the other week went by that name as well. Even now, Billy is _still_ disappointed over not getting his number.

“Awesome. Hey, Steve? You up to taking a job?”

A person ends up peeking around the doorway behind the counter. And wow. Though fate sometimes seems like an asshole, there are other times where it truly plants great chances right in your hands.

For this Steve ends up being the same as _that_ Steve. And rather than forget about Billy, which he really wouldn’t have blamed Steve for after several weeks passing, familiarity lights up in his eyes.

“It’s you!” he exclaims instead. “You were the one who helped me pick out the flowers, aren’t you?”

Billy grins. “That’s the one. How did it go? She didn’t get awkward at all, did she?”

“No, not at all. It was a great pick.” Now standing in front of Billy, he glances at the other curiously. “So what is it you’re after.”

“Oh, just a wrist tattoo. Hang on …” He takes out a photo he’s printed out of the flowers, holding it out to him. “Just because I know you’re hopeless with flowers. I’d like these, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, should be simple enough,” says Steve, taking the photo from him. An amused smile grows on his lips. “A florist getting a flower tattoo, huh? How original.”

Billy chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“Give me a minute to get these drawn out and then I’ll be right with you.”

It truly is only minutes before the flowers are being drawn onto Billy’s wrist in some kind of blue ink. Steve has created a small line of them, their leaves joining them together, and Billy knows he has found the right person to do this for him.

The guide is eventually completed, Steve asking, “How’s that?”

Billy brings his wrist up. Even before the tattoo has been inked yet, he can feel emotion swelling in his chest simply over the thought of putting this permanent reminder of his mother on his body. But he’d rather not let that show, so he instead says, “Yeah, it’s fine. Trust the pretty boy to do well with drawing pretty flowers.”

Not fazed at all, Steve responds with, “Exactly,” with an amused smile.

Billy is soon lead to the back room where the tattoo machines are. He sits down in one of the chairs, his arm placed down onto a table next to him. And suddenly, he feels a bit nervous. Not really because of the pain. Pain is something he has grown to tolerate fairly well – but _needles …_ It’s nowhere near a phobia, but Billy is pretty certain that most people like to avoid being pierced by one.

Considering Steve has likely had many cases of this, he seems to be able to sense these nerves. “First time?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“To be honest, you _did_ pick a place where it feels pretty weird.”

Billy stares at him. “You’re kidding.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “No, but it could still be worse. I’d just expect it to be a bit uncomfortable, and the session shouldn’t take too long anyway.” A vibrating noise fills the air as Steve finishes preparing the needle. “You ready?”

 

* * *

 

It _does_ hurt. But like Steve says, it could be a lot worse. In fact, the pain is probably the smallest thing bothering Billy during this. The sensation of the needle poking at the skin and nerves in his wrist is about as comfortable as it sounds.

But Billy has a good distraction during all of this. That strange, fluttery feeling he had in his chest weeks ago has returned in full force. Getting stabbed by a needle probably doesn’t seem like the most romantic of things. But Steve holding onto Billy’s wrist, the way he is leaning over with admirable concentration written on his face, for some reason they’re all very much attractive. Although each time Steve glances up at Billy, he looks away, because it’d be awkward to explain why he is staring.

“Not long to go, now,” says Steve, now filling in the petals with white. He pauses for a moment, before asking, “So did you end up getting this because it’s your favourite flower?”

“I don’t really care much about flowers,” says Billy. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Yet you’re both a florist _and_ getting one tattooed on your wrist.”

Billy lets out a laugh. “All right, they’re not that bad. But nah, I’m getting it because my mom liked them.”

He keeps it short, not going into this whole explanation that he spent his teenage years without a mother and was stuck with his abusive father instead. However, the word ‘liked’ still comes across clearly, and there is no mistaking the way Steve’s eyebrows furrow for a moment.

But thankfully, Steve doesn’t push or even show any pity. He simply says, “I’m sure she would like it.” And those simple words mean far more to Billy than any repetitive condolences would.

Soon, Billy is given the chance to properly look over the tattoo before it is wrapped up. He brings his wrist up closer to his face, finding that he cannot even try to conceal the smile on his face. It truly is perfect. Steve was wrong; Billy’s mother wouldn’t merely like it, she would _adore_ it.

“Do you like it?” Steve asks.

Billy nods. “I – thanks. I’m glad that it was done by you.”

And the smile he receives in return only makes this even truer.

‘ _Just get his number, just get his number,’_ is repeated in Billy’s mind as he begins to head out of the parlour. Really, why is he being such a coward about this? What’s the worst that could happen?

He turns around, going to speak, but Steve does too at the exact same time.

“One more thing –”

“Wait a second –”

Both laugh, before Billy gestures Steve to speak first. “Go on.”

“I uh, I was wondering if I could have your number,” says Steve, rubbing the back of his neck. Billy’s eyes widen. “I probably shouldn’t say this to a customer, but I’d love to take you out for a drink, if you’d want to.”

Oh. Billy has been mentally preparing himself since he got here that if he asked for Steve’s number, he would likely have the offer thrown right back in his face. He hadn’t actually thought about the potentially positive outcome of this.

Wait. Is his face growing _warm?_ If there is any sign of a blush on his face, he’d happily move out of the country right here and now.

“Assumed I’m gay because I’m a florist?” Billy questions. At least his voice is a little less awkward than he feels.

Steve laughs. “Well, I was hoping. You can say no if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I, um, I’d really like that. Hold on.”

He finds a crumpled receipt in his pocket, stealing a pen from the receptionist’s counter to scribble down a number. He clears his throat as he hands it over to Steve. “Here. Feel free to call me whenever.”

Steve smiles, holding that little receipt as though it is is the most precious thing in the world. “I will.”

And with that, Billy leaves, staring down at the wrapped tattoo on his wrist, never realising it would do so much for him.


End file.
